


In the dark of the church

by acricket



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Near Death, trandformations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-27 03:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18295517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acricket/pseuds/acricket
Summary: Folio stilled in her grasp, “Not all wounds bleed, Maria.” he repeated,the humored laughter bleeding back into his voice. “Bandages don't always help.” He continued. “Or... a different bandage?”





	In the dark of the church

The campfire flickered on the other side of the room from where they sat cradled by the decomposing pews, creating shadows across the ruptured stones of the floor and walls. Hiding foes in the shade. It wasn’t the only light; the moon shone through a hole in the rundown corridor, outside the old stone church in an eastern hall. The crucifix standing tall with herself and the Jester, Folio, in its shadow. 

They were away from the others: the strong and brutal Hellion Bea and the strange Occultist Elphias with his cursed books. They both sat on the other side the crucifix, surrounded by their personal items and tokens. She tried to put her mind away from what heretical acts they were to perform in this sanctuary.

Instead she concentrated on her own hands; long, boney hands with thick tendons. They shook from her recent transformation and subsequent exhaustion, pale against the dusky skin of Folio who shivered under her ministrations.

He twitched as she tugged the thread keeping the large gash of his skin together, knotting it. The wound had happened during an almost impossible fight they had not been meant to face.

They had not come here to fight one of the Necromancers. The broken scholars. The Heirling had deemed them, her, too new to win against such a terrible foe. Being only hired on two weeks ago. That quest was reserved for the templar’s group. She had seen them preparing before they left. All for naught now she supposed. Her party was only to venture in and bless statues of saints to help combat the encroaching darkness. To stabilize the shifting corridors that seemed to rearrange themselves to their own wims. They had run into it by pure chance and bad luck, as they searched for the last statue. The Necromancers never ventured to the outskirts, preferring their labs and studies in the more stable parts of the estate. Why it was there, by the corridors that were little more than frames held together by rubble, she could not fathom.

The fight had been a bloody one, the unholy armies of raised bones, their bodies defiled and souls stolen from heaven and brought back to the earth. It made her soul sick. They had barely survived the fight. Her, especially.

She had been next to Folio, whipping encroaching skeletons in rotting finery away from his side when a Bone Captain struck a harsh blow from the dark reces of a shadowed door. It had come down hard on her shoulder, biting deep into her muscle, nearly cleaving it from the socket.

In the ensuing pain, she had lost her shaking grip and changed into the Beast. She did not have a clear memory of what happened next, just the burn of the transformation, the hollow breaking of bones and the taste of soured black blood so close to her own.

She had come to in a heap on the floor, tangled in the robes of the fallen apprentice, naked and covered in gore. Her own and the foul abomination’s. Elphias had fawned over her shoulder, the new scars.

“The muscles of your arm arched to their brothers on the shoulder, pulling them back together and whole.” He had exclaimed as he touched her aching shoulder. 

Lucky he had said.

Lucky she was cursed with this form. An abomination in the eyes of the Lord. How her fellow sisters would have wept.  
Lucky, maybe, to be a bastard against the natural order and heal from a wound that should have felled her. Others had not been so lucky, like Folio, who breathed out a shaky breath as she tightened the last of the bandages.

He giggled. Not the jovial one, or the mean one when he lashed out in violence, but the uncomfortable one little more than a raspy breath. He had to be put back together by Elphias’ dark magics. Something other reaching out and mending flesh like clay. Left the minor things though, the smaller cuts and scratches, Elphias deeming them unimportant and too draining to close.

“Nothing some bandages and time won't heal.” He always waved them away dismissively.

She had finished the last of Folio’s, that she could see at least.   
“Nice and tight. Nice and tight, lest the blood flee into the night!” The Jester mumbled to himself, half singing. His hand idly cleaned his dagger with a torn cloth. His hands were shaking too, skating along it's fine edge.

“...Nice and tight.” she said back, tugging on the edge of the bandage.

She tried not to think of what made these marks. They looked too ragged to be from a dagger or a sword. He had been standing so close and she could never control the Beast and he was not above lying. God in heaven she hoped it had not been her to cause the wounds. Was he shaking in fear of her touch? What torture.

She started to withdraw her hand to release her friend, when Folio’s dropped its cloth to snatch hers still.  
He was looking at her over his shoulder, refusing to let her retreat. She could just make out the shining edge of his dark eyes through the slits in his mask. “Sad day when you put a clown above yourself.” He hissed out, gingerly turning himself to face towards her. The other hand reaching for the bandages sitting on her cloth handkerchief.

She tried to gently tug her hand away. “I have no injuries.” No use wasting precious bandages on someone who could just heal from any wound. They still needed to make it back out with their news and discoveries. 

He was silent for a moment. The lines of his mask harsh from the firelight. She knew he was studying her, feeling the tremble in her hands. It made her feel warm. So unlike the critical eye of the occultist who seemed to want to take her apart. 

“Not all wounds bleed.” He finally said.

He leaned forwards into her space, pushing off her long coat; the only thing to survive her transformations. It left her torso bare, but she had never had much left there after... 

After. 

She didn’t feel the shame of the flesh. Not anymore.

His fingers brushed her shoulders, the indents of the healed over rupture. She felt again the harsh bite of the blade, carving, tearing into her shoulder down to the bone and sinew. New shivers racked her body and her hand snapped up to cover his, snatching it away from her. She felt the low growl in her soul, reverberating inside her mortal form. Dangerous, angry and crying for retribution. 

Folio stilled in her grasp, “Not all wounds bleed, Maria.” he repeated,the humoured laughter bleeding back into his voice. “Bandages don't always help.” He continued. “Or... a different bandage?”

His other hand dropped its roll of bandages to the floor, moving boldly to rest on her thigh. The heat of it shot through her thin, borrowed pants, shocking her out of her memories.

“Heals my wounds some times. The ones that don't bleed. A good lay.” He made no other advances. His curly black hair looking soft, finally free of his jingling hat. She felt her face warm at his bare invitation. What he wanted would be a sin. A breaking of her vows of chastity. She tried to make her mouth work out words, but it just twisted on its hinge uselessly.

After a few moments, when she did not respond, he started to draw back. “Was just a suggested bandage.” He said quickly, tugging at his hand that was still held within hers.

His warm hand, rough with callouses from plucking his lute, but soft with muscle. Not boney like hers or... or the skeletons that infested this festering crypt. Alive and so warm.

Her eyes darted to the side, going for the cross. The Saviour had already rotted from were it had hung, only the nails stayed as a memory. Ruined and broken as her vows already were. The sanctioned ground she rested on as tainted and twisted as her own mortal form. She was already damned.

She felt the panic rise in her throat and ripped her eyes away from the cross and the thoughts, to where Bea was muttering to herself, sharpening her weapons. Elphias had his back turned completely, absorbed in his books, unknowing of the world.

“Bea won't mind.” Folio said, misinterpreting her glance, still sitting in her space but no longer retreating or advancing, simply waiting. A devil on her shoulder, promising fruit. Promising fruit to one who had already unknowingly eaten it.

The beast howled in her mind, woken by the memories that were trying to close in around her, kept at bay by the heat of the body in front of her. There were still rows of broken pews between them. She was already damned and Folio wasn't a devil. More a fallen angel seeking comfort, just as she was. Fallen.

She still averted her eyes away from the cross, tried to ignore that this was hallowed ground. Not anymore, desecrated as the dead of the house.

She slipped her free hand around his waist, pulling his heat closer to her core clumsily. He helped, shifting on his knees, leaning in. He almost seemed to purr against her thin sternum. 

His mask was close to her face and she could see the firelight in his eyes, then she saw his bare face as the mask was slid off.

It was a handsome face, with a straight nose and a charming smile that was filled with uneven teeth. The only worrying thing were his eyes, his lidless eyes that seemed to stare feverently at her, almost as if she was a divine being and he a worshiper. Closer to a demonic visage and a heretic.

He must have seen something on her face, for his brows (thin, rubbed away by his mask) furrowed as he drew back slightly, and with it the warmth he brought, leaving the clawing cold.

She pulled him forwards, clumsily mashing their mouths together. It was hard, painful. She could taste her blood as her teeth sliced through her lip.

Folio let himself be held against her, staring into her eyes. His twinkled with the fire light, laughing with her as she felt her face heat. He then twisted his head and finally, their lips locked properly.   
It was a good kiss. Better than the inexperienced fumbling before she took her vows. Much, much better than...

Folio groaned into her mouth, pressing his bare chest against hers.

He was still smaller, his body lithe and thin like an acrobat. Warm, much different than hers, with its tough muscle stretched over too large bones. She would have been smaller than him, before. Chubby and soft.

Hands snaked around her back, rough, uneven nails catching on her oversensitive new skin. It made her shiver in a different way. The old feeling of heat making its way out from her core to her nethers.

Her own hands traveled on their own to Folios rear, dragging him closer. She felt him on her thigh, already stiff with his own lust. 

He broke away from her , wiping away her blood from his mouth, leaving a black streak on his arm.

“Let me apply some... sutures.” He whispered to her. His breath smelled of the herbal concoction he had earlier, and her blood. The Beast rumbled in her head. She could feel its teeth on her ear, its claws-

Fingers worked their way under her pants. She jerked for another reason. They tangled in her pubic hair, tugging and scratching that lit the fire inside her brighter, forcing back the cold and never ending howling.

Another hand held where her hip jutted out sharply. His thumb playes where it dipped to her groin.

It was maddening. She pressed backwards into the molding, broken pew, letting out a small gasp. Her pants were tugged open and his hand started to work in earnest as it found her pearl.

He rubbed circles over it. With his thumb? His fingers? She was unsure but did not look down, choosing instead to close her eyes, bringing up one hand to cover her mouth.

His body rocked into her side as he changed position. His head tucked into the cook of her neck, his breath wet and hot as he traced open mouth kisses across it.

The fingers trailed lower, stroking along her folds, becoming wet with her slick. She couldn’t control the stuttered jutting of her hips as her body arched in its wanton lust. She hissed out a sound into her hand as his fingers entered her. The fire roared inside her as another part rubbed at her pearl, sending shocks along her spine.

As he continued, her legs twitched, looking for purchase, something to brace against, but for what. She whimpered as the hand quickened. Her body felt fuzzy, the feeling of bones and angered growls banished from her mind as the world became only her nethers and Folios hand. This warm, soft and rough hand applying its sutures. She knew she was close to completion. Her core locking up as her pulse quickened.

The hand was gone, and she whined, biting at her own fingers to drown out the sound. Folio was turned away, reaching for the metal flask he kept on his belt.

Her blood howled in her head, as her body ached as she watched him dip his head back and drop a little of the liquid in each eye before stopping it and replacing his mask and the protection it provided.

“S’why I don't have a license,” He turned back to her, mask back in place.. “Always stop in the middle of treatment.”

His pants were undone, his shaft standing proudly curved out of his pants. It was already leaking, red like her quaking insides. She let out a huffing laugh of a breath and he all but dove back into her. Her pants were pushed down her narrow legs to pool on the slowly warming stone. It grew warmer with his body heat a moment later as he pushed between her legs.

The mask was back, blank and foreboding, his eyes but dark pools beneath again. She felt him fumble at her core, felt him rub at her, his shaft hard and hot against her. She tried not to gouge lines along his back as she grasped at him.

Then, finally he was sliding in. It was divine. He was small and hot between her thighs. Hot like the hellfire that would consume her when she finally fell.

He groaned in her ear, barely audible over the howling in her blood as she fell into its rush. She clutched him tighter, bowing her head into his shoulder, his dark curls tickling her cheek. One of his hands snuck around pulling at her bottom as he started to move.

It set the fire inside her ablaze, the flair arching in her body. It was better than people whispered, this feeling. Much, much better than those fumblings in the dark.

It was divine and right, how he moved, his strong, lithe body curled with hers. His hands grasping and rubbing at her. She could hear him laughing, distantly over the roar of her blood. Her limbs were tense, she was coming close again and felt fuzzy, like she was drifting.

She heard Folio hiss against her ears even as he leaned into her. “Easy, easy. Don't injure the doctor now.” He murmured as he continued to move.

She went to reply, an apology, something sensible, but all that would come was a deep growl. Her body went from aflame to freezing as she realised the roar in her ears was not her blood.

She tried to push him away, but her control was lax and in her state, she started to feel the burn of her skin as it tore along her arms and across her torso. She tried to scream-

They tore through Their smaller form. They fell forwards, onto Their hands and knees. Blood and torn skin dripped from Their jaws, slowly dissolving. Pleasure still thrummed through Their bones and They drooled shaking with its delight.

There was noise below. The tiny form of the Laughing Man swore under Them. They were still connected at the hips. Him tucked between Their thighs. Arched like a bow straining with tension and violence. They could smell his scent of life, paper, steel and soulful cords. He also stunk of fear and pleasure and excitement.

A hand on Their flank. Cold on Their fevered skin. Electric and grasping. Calming and petting. Inviting. Their head moved and a pleasured growl escaped. He groaned below, saying something. Meaningless words, but smelling of want, of promised touching.

They tried to get close. Limbs too large. The space too small. The cradle of the pews and fallen arches. Their knees quaked.

The laughter bubbled beneath them as they moved. High, scared, enthralled. They licked the man under them, who shivered and said something else. Their ears are mush, his words gibbering in the dark. His movements are lovely. A hand moves up, pushing Their head away. It smells of herbs and care and blood and wetness. Their wetness.  
There is movement beyond them. A room. Dark, ruined. Moldy with a stale taste of light. The woman, a warrior. The smell of her desire washed away by her blood lust. Her smile, cruel, bloodsoaked, ready, is gritted. She is standing. Her hands steady, ready.

The warmth below falls as They rise. Empty, cold. They do not like it. The warrior is standing. Her weapons out. She is snarling. Something Other has hands on her shoulders. It calls for blood. They would give it. The other man is cowering, pressing into the books of Their kin. Lips tremble and dust shifts as something familiar crawls. Not defenseless, but farther. 

They try to stand. Their ears arch and They growl. A warning. A challenge. Fight me. Wear me out. The Other flares on her back. Blood. Blood. Blood-

Cold hands are back, hitched on Their legs. Freezing. Grounding. They hook on their hips, Their jutting bones. The laughing man is back. His birdscent, his joy, is closer. He hugs Their middle. Rubs himself on Their chest. Cold, cold but warm.

Muttering and moving down. He is calling Their other name, chanting. Appeasing. He enters Them as he fiddles. Claiming. Calming. But uneven. Trying for something, but he is too small. They are too tall. Knees. They go to Their knees, letting the small man rest on the ground. Scared, excited, wanting. The taste of him is enveloping.

Hands on their sides, rubbing, scratching. They need more. Much more. They grab one leg. His bird bones small and delicate. They use it to pull him closer. Leverage as They grind down.

He groans under Them. Head lying back against the stones. Small. Sweet. They want to devour him. Consume until his blood soaks the stone with its sweet scent. Marking this place, Them, as his.

They lean down. Lick a trail along his bare chest. Collecting the sweat and dust and and herbs soaking his bandages. They pump onto him. Pulling tight. Grinding. He gasps, head thrown back. His vulnerabilities exposed.

They taste his pulse, his copper as it pounds in his thin skin. He is swearing again. Taking the bright ones name. The syllables ache in Their mind. Low, teasing like the ache in Their groin. Complementing, echoing in a different pitch. The feeling is matching the man that gives it.

The beautiful man below Them. He arches towards Them. A hand on Their hindquarters. Pulling Them. Urging Them for more. He no longer smells of fear. Only a flood of want. Of need. Of desperation. For Her. For Them.  
They grind down harshly, clenching around him. Caging him. Releasing him. He cries out. Pretty. Loud. They smell his seed, buried deep inside where it will die. Their body not suitable. But the thought.

Their claws dig into his leg. His blood wafting into the air. A miasma of him. His song. His strength. His nature. It wets Their tongue and calls Their blood.

Their jaws grasp his shoulder. Teeth digging in. More of that sweet sweet blood. It coats Their nose. Envelops Them. They finish with him still jerking under them. Crying out in twined pain and pleasure.

Their trembles match him. They grind against him, still as he moans. They are dissolving. Fading as the pleasure resonates in their body. Heady as their bloodlust. Sated and quiet.

Maria blinked. Her head cloudy with sleepfog. It took a few moments before she realized that there was stone inches from her nose. Her body trembled, from a transformation, she was certain. She was familiar with the feeling, the pleasure, but the ache was different. Copper, blood. Something shifted in her mouth. 

She released with a gasp. Folio was hissing in pain under her, his shoulder a ruin. She had... no, the Beast had. But Why?

“Maria. Maria. I need my legs back.” She heard the pain under his laugh. He grasped his shoulder, covering up the Beasts bite. She was still holding his leg. His bloody leg. There was more on her hand, it coated her wrist.

She dropped it and he moved back, leaving her space, and her. Lord above, they had been copulating. And she had- the Beast. Her stomach heaved. Had, had the act transformed? Was she even denied that?

“I-I bit you.” Her trembling hand held her mouth, smothering her words, her horror.

“Nothing I didn’t like. “ He said, sitting up. “Nothing a bandage won't heal.” He grabbed her hand, bringing it away from her mouth. His mask tilted to the side, eyes looking past her shoulder. Blood trickled from his wound as he picked up her cloak, throwing it around her shoulders, smearing his blood on it. Even the second look at the bite made her want to vomit. The damage she did...

“Move” She was suddenly shoved to the side as Bea pushed her, away from Folio, out of the shadow and into the moonlight. She wrapped her cloak tighter, covering herself as best she could. The other woman cast her a glance, briefly. It felt smug, calculating and oddly friendly. 

“No bandages.”

“Got more!” Folio called out, indignant, grasping at the rolls they had left which were now wet with blood and dirt from where they had been pushed into the ground. He deflated slightly at the realization as Bea tossed them away with a sharp tsk.

“They call me savage. You want dirty bandage.” Her face was on fire and she had to look away as Bae and Folio started bickering, as the wound was cleaned and dressed. 

She made the mistake of glancing over at Eliphas, who was glowering at both Bea and Folio. He snapped the book he had been holding shut. The otherworldly light coming off of his skull and candle disappearing. Letting go of his dark magics didn’t make him less tense. He started to shift away from the lot of them and back to his books when his eyes caught hers. 

The old sensation of that interest. The feeling that he was studying her as one would a shiny bird. She hunkered down as he finally broke the contact. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him pick up one of his writing books and a quill and start scribbling away.

Her pants were thrown onto her lap, snapping her out of her reprieve and back into the pleased face of Bae, who was helping Folio stand, pants being awkwardly pulled up. “Join me. Sit by fire.” Her face held a crooked grin. “Shy? Come, I will turn.” And she did, exaggeratedly and with a grin, pulling the protesting Folio with her.

He had already seen all of her, felt all of her. Folio glanced over his shoulder at where she sat cold and alone. Desperately hiding her shame. 

Bae yanked his ear, causing him to squeak as she started to drag him to closer to the fire. “Shy maiden. Do not peak, fiend.”

She couldn't help her astonished laugh at the awkward display as Folio was led away, awkward and grumbling. It left her alone, however. Alone but for the cooling stone she sat on. She quickly slid back into her pants, hidden in the shadow of her cloak. 

Not that the other two were watching. Or were carefully not watching, absorbed in poking the fire and poking bandages.

She almost didn't go to them, almost stayed away in the darkness where she belonged, but then Folio glanced her away again, quick and with just a slight tilt of his mask. He shifted over slightly on the cloth pallet he slept on. Enough room for her.

Her legs were still wobbly. Even weaker from the second transformation in a single day. She still made it over, almost falling into the space he had made.

Dried jerky was shoved into her hands by Bea who chewed on a chunk of her own. She didn't question what meat it was, just ate it. Filling up the hole in her stomach she hadn't even known she'd had until she had smelled it.

They ate in silence for a few moments. Bea put away her supply of bandages. Folio reached behind him and produced his lute, plucking a few cords, humming to himself. She was grateful for the silence. Her shame a simmer under her skin. Then Bea finally spoke.

“Was enjoying play there. thought I had to join, almost.” she says. 

“I-” She seemed to be teasing, but Maria only felt her own pulsing fear, echoed in her words until they rung in her head like the droning, inescapable bells of the church.

“Saw that one only in battle. Thought it might still be there.” Bea stared at her, judging, finding fault as she took a drink from her flask. Her hands shook more as she tried to say something. 

“Not worst way to die. But would be bad when just having fun.” 

It was a miracle the Beast hadn’t done more. She never remembered, but she had seen the corpses after. It could have-

“It was a ride you mean.” Folio snapped out, leaning towards Bea. “You know I like wild rides. Insatiable, I am.” standing, he made his hat jiggle, the bells tinkling in the light. 

“Get killed riding too wild horse.” Bea laughed.

“Look look. I even have a song!” The jester cackled out, then launched into a cracked and off-tune song, with truly awful lyrics full of profane images and impossible exploits. His playing was impeded by his injuries, the music stuttered and some of his words trailing into a hisses, but it never stopped him and then Bea fell into it, repeating the memorable bits. She seemed to know the song. It allowed Maria to sink into her cloak, or try to, as tall she she was. 

If Bea was right, Maria thought, if she understood her (it was difficult with her odd language), if the Beast wasn’t only confined to battle... If, if it responded to any sinful act... 

She shuddered. A beast she was. Full of violence and danger. She would have to stay away from the both of them. It would be for the best, even if it meant loneliness for her.


End file.
